Twin Memoirs
by The Alice of Shredd
Summary: Mixed thoughts from Speedy and Aqualad.
1. Tantalize

"**Tantalize"**

_Aqualad_

I don't think it ever occurred to Speedy how tantalizing he was, how his incessant grooming rituals went unneeded—but not unnoticed—by most of his fans, including the singular male in the vast sea of squealing fangirls. He would always sit on the couch, combing his hair, his feet up on the coffee table despite Bee's threats. He always sat there, so calm and laidback, with an easygoing expression that made him look like he was thoughtful of something, but not focusing too hard on it—as if he was keeping worries at bay.

I would watch him on days like that, when he would just sit there and watch TV, murmuring something about being bored. And me, the lovestruck fool—however painful that is for me to say—would just laugh in agreement and continue making dinner. I think I remember donning an apron sometimes, on Bee's request for something to laugh at.

As his friend and teammate, I was officially excluded from any sort of scandal. If I was watching him a bit too closely, it was because he 'had been feeling ill earlier,' and I, as the only other relatively competent guy on the team, was declared his keeper. If I was sitting too close to him, it was a mere coincidence, not even worthy of mention on We-Love-Speedy fansites.

Actually, speaking of those sites, I often browse them for lack of anything better to do. Of course, I'm under a sobriquet—something so obvious and simple, like 'Aqua,' that it didn't call attention. And it passed as a girl's username when I scanned the "You Know You're Obsessed With Speedy When…" and found that I do many of the things listed, mostly because I have no choice. I mean, 'you call your boyfriend Roy' is a loose interpretation of the word 'boyfriend,' but it's basically true. Of course, Roy is a perfectly normal name, so someone who hates Speedy probably has a boyfriend named Roy…


	2. Dark Eyes

"**Dark Eyes"**

_Speedy_

Is it true? The more you strive for attention, the less you'll get? It's definitely proving to be true so far—unless you count the fangirls. But then, the opposite would be relevant—the more you strive to blend in, the more you stand out. Truth be told, ever since that one day at the pizza parlor, I've only wanted one set of eyes watching me. It just took me a few months for me to swallow that emotion and recognize it for what it was.

It was a long time ago—a few years, I'd guess. Bee had just invited me to join a new team of Titans in collaboration with the original Titans that I'd fought with—and against—a few months before. But in the middle of her proposal, she suddenly looked up and waved over a boy around my age, with long black hair and dark eyes.

He was Aqualad, as he reintroduced himself to me. We'd been in the Tournament together, in that same place where I'd met the Titans members. Meeting him in the competition made him my enemy. Meeting him at a pizza place made him… well, what _did_ it make him?

He had sat next to me, leaning on the table and looking at me curiously. He started up a conversation as Bee disappeared for a while—I never _did_ figure out where she went for those twenty minutes—and soon enough, we were laughing and elbowing each other as if we'd known each other for years.

After that day, we didn't see each other for a few months. And during those months, I felt strangely empty. Again, it was as if we'd known each other for much longer than an hour or two, as if he'd made a lasting impression in my life.

The day we met again, on the day that we started laying out the Tower's blueprints, was awkward, to say the least. I felt a strange sense of relief wash over me when I was next to him again, but then my nerves kicked in. We were all hovering around the table of plans, leaning over them, trying to get a chance to use the five pencils… three of which the twins were racing around with. So, Bee had one, and Aqualad and I were forced to share one. But things got even more uncomfortable when he and I were looking closely at the details on the paper at the same time on opposite sides of the table, and looked up in synchronization when Bee called something out.

We stood there, nose to nose, for what seemed like eternity. His warm breath mixed with mine, his face at an odd angle that made his lips less than an inch from mine. The surprise in eyes wasn't filled with dread, either. His eyes were jumping over my face, almost analyzing it, his pale face flushed and his mouth curved up into a slightly playful smile. And as I shoved myself back from the table, my face burning, that foreign emotion registered as pure desire.

Horror movies always send out the message that dark eyes watching a person are terrible and signify death. And in a clichéd way, I agree. Dark eyes watching me would totally mean heaven.


	3. Friendship, Meet Lust

"**Friendship, Meet Lust"**

_Aqualad_

We were fighting some egoistic villain today when I realized that Speedy, while in battle, is like a character in some sort of martial arts movie. He's quick—hence his name, I remind myself—and lethal, but so smooth in his movements that it enraptures anyone who watches. Or tries not to watch, but has to take a moment to pause and enjoy the excellent technique.

And, of course, 'watching him train' at the Tower is also one of my 'teammate duties,' which has proven to be even more captivating. When he's worn from training and about to collapse, I find that the weakness makes him more attractive. Or perhaps I'm just sadistic.

But when he's moving in any way, whether it be leaping from rooftop to rooftop or walking through the main room, I have to deliberately _not_ watch him. (So I'm a bit more obsessed with him than his fangirls—but they don't live with him. Can you blame me for the natural fixation?) The way his muscles flex, the fluid way he moves, the mystery behind the mask... It's all so… enticing.

If I lived with Robin, I'm sure I would have some feelings for him as well. But I can't imagine having any sort of emotions toward Robin like I do toward Speedy. I would blush and shake my head if I called it love, because love isn't only shared by lovers, as strange as that is. Love is between friends, between relatives. I could love Robin—perhaps I already do, I know him so well—but it wouldn't be any different from the way that I'd love Raven, Cyborg, Beast Boy or Starfire.

So is it lust? Or is it passion? Is there a difference?

I have a passion for fish. Does that mean I want to be with them in a way other than swimming? No.

And people say lust doesn't last. It's a moment of satisfaction, and then the person moves on. This feeling—it wouldn't go away if I were to hug Speedy, kiss Speedy, even sleep with Speedy. Or is that another part of lust—not knowing that you're too involved in it to realize that the emotion won't last?

But I guess I shouldn't worry—there's no way Speedy would want me. And that's completely fine by me—I'm just a teammate, just a friend. It couldn't be any more than that, even if we weren't both guys. So the feeling, lust or otherwise, won't ever go away.

What if another 'someone' comes along—for me, or for him? I can't imagine being so infatuated with another person, even though I'm clearly over romanticizing this whole situation.

If Speedy moved on—who am I kidding? He can't move on from a one-way relationship that he's oblivious to! If Speedy eventually went out with a girl, and I knew that they were clearly in love—lust—infatuation—then I would probably be unable to stay close to him. The green-eyed demon would come out… I can't imagine the jealousy I'd feel. I get mad at anyone who even _seems_ to be flirting with him as is.

What if he ended up with another man? Irony at its worst, I suppose. I'd be devastated—why wouldn't he have seen me, when I was so near to him? I guess it's arrogant to think that I'm attractive, but we trust each other and have a bond… of friendship. Maybe that's all I'll ever be to him—a friend.


	4. Better Life

"**Better Life"**

One thing I love about Aqualad is how straightforward he is, and how opinionated. Sometimes a little _too_ opinionated, but he's so passionate when he argues about something.

Like a few days ago, when we were out shopping—Bee made us get some things for her to keep us from getting violent with the ever-more-annoying twins. We had finished getting everything, of course, and were walking back to the coastline when Aqualad just stopped and stared. I nearly ran into him, but caught myself and asked what was wrong.

He didn't answer, so I repeated the question, slightly worried. With every passing second he looked more furious.

"Aqualad?" I followed his eyes to the big, orange sign at the top of the building and let out a sigh. "Just let it go," I muttered, pulling on his elbow. "You can't help it."

It was a pet store, one of those generic ones that are everywhere. But next to the sign was the picture of a fish in a plastic bag, with a little boy holding it and looking happily at the fish. When I said 'help it,' I meant 'help the fish.'

"She," he spat, shifting his glare to me. "It's a she."

I almost laughed, knowing that he would kill me if I chuckled aloud. "What do you want to do, then?" I asked, shaking my head. "Throw them into the ocean? Don't be ridiculous—the only kind of food they know how to catch are little flakes of who-knows-what that are fed to them by hu—"

"I know," he sighed, his shoulders drooping. He started walking again, eyes on the ground, and I felt disgusted with myself for making him look like that.

"Don't get all sad about—"

"I'm not sad," he laughed, quirking a brow at me. My pulse sped up in my veins with that look. "Just… frustrated. Like I can't do anything to help them. We save people all the time, and some people don't need to be saved. Why can't we help living things that _do_ need our help?"

"Maybe they don't know that there's anything better." I shrugged. "I mean, if you stick something in a cage from the first day of its life, how will it know that there's a better kind of life for it?"

He stopped walking, looked out over the bay, and then turned to face me. "Do you think there's a better life for us, Speedy?"

I froze where I stood, unable to look away from him but unable to find an answer. "Well," I began, desperately trying to form an opinion out of the blank space in my head.

"I mean, could our lives be less stressful, or more fun? Could we make better friends or keep from making enemies? Could we learn to open ourselves up a little, instead of keeping secrets from each other?"

I swear, time froze. The question might've been just another in a long line of thoughts, but it seemed purposely directed at me. The only thing I could think was a panicked _Does he know I love him?_ and then an even more panicked, _How?!_

The eternal second passed, and he began walking again, probably with a clear head instead of my jumbled, guilty, doubting mind.

I still wonder what he meant by that. I suppose I should ask him.


	5. Intoxication

"**Intoxication"**

_Aqualad_

Bleary eyes stared up at me, an open, utterly vulnerable expression on Speedy's face. He was sitting at the counter of a bar, drink he'd been nursing in one hand and his head resting on the other. He was groaning, mumbling something incoherently into the countertop.

"Speedy," I said, sitting on the stool beside him. He winced at the mere sound of his name, a guilty child. "Is this where you've been?"

Bee had gotten mad at him for not mopping some obscure storage room, and the fight had escalated into Speedy's self-withdrawal from the Tower. But that wasn't why he stayed out and got drunk; something else must've been bothering him, and he'd just needed an excuse to blow up and get away.

"This is my third," he muttered, sitting up, finishing the rest of his drink in one gulp.

"Third drink?" I guessed.

"Third bar. I'm not even smashed yet." He laughed dully, putting his head down again. "It _sucks_."

He was more inebriated than he thought, actually. And it wasn't that he was twenty-one, nor did he somehow obtain a fake ID. The government gave us certified IDs for a mission nearly six months ago to a risqué club, and they never asked us to return them. The mission itself is a wholly other story, but all in all, it let Speedy have a real ID for getting drinks.

A real, certified, fake ID.

"I think three's enough," I answered, tapping his arm. "Come on, let's get back."

He shot me a look. "I don't want to get back. I hate it there."

"You hate the Tower?" He was _definitely_ drunk. As much as he insisted he disliked living with us, there was no way he'd outright admit to abhorring it.

"The twins piss me off and Bee hates me. She makes me mop," he added with a chuckle.

Curiosity got the best of me. "What about me?" Hopefully, he wouldn't remember being asked.

"You're…" He sat up again, squinting at me. "You're… what's the word? You're very… Let's leave," he decided suddenly, clambering to his feet. He managed to get to the door without falling, which surprised me, but then I remembered his past experience with alcohol. He wasn't a Puritan by any means.

He became steadier as we walked, and eventually he was moving as if he'd only had water. But he didn't say a word, and I didn't want to interrupt his thinking, so we made our way down the sidewalk in silence. I didn't think to ask where we were headed until Speedy turned down a rocky forest path.

I could smell the ocean before the path itself opened up, and once the rustling trees ended I could hear the gentle nighttime waves sloshing against the shore. Serenity brought me to a calm euphoria; the urge to swim crept into my head, a faint desire.

"Why are we here?" I wondered quietly as he took a seat on the rocks.

He shrugged, laying back, his head resting on his hands. "It's peaceful. And _you_ like it, right?"

"Are you going to sleep out here?" I laughed and sat next to him.

He nodded, closing his eyes.

With him unable to see me, I felt the freedom to stare at his face. He was beautiful, as usual, his angular face made pale in the waning moon. His chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths.

"You're very likable."

I jumped. "What?"

Opening his eyes, he smiled, expression haunting. His eyes themselves were an eerie green with a glint of silver and grey, reflected off the sky. "I said, you're very likable. I don't mind living with you."

Nothing seemed an appropriate response, so I merely stared. I wouldn't have been able to answer, anyway, with that twisted smile so close to me.

"You don't piss me off," he said. "And you don't hate me." For a moment he stopped, as if hesitant in saying something. But then he sat up, leaning forward, and with a serious expression he murmured sincerely, "And… I like you."


End file.
